Suggested Audio Candy:
Simple Minds “Sanctify Yourself”
The most minuscule of gestures can go a long way. The past few weeks I’ve been in something of a dark place; overloaded and somnolent, my work has no doubt echoed this pent-up angst and it is possible that it has given a false impression of my outlook. However, at no point have I desired to feed a stray cat to a cash machine, wire an explosive device to a speeding bus, or send anyone their wife’s disembodied head via FedEx. It isn’t how I roll; such exhibitions of tenebrosity should never be misinterpreted as, outside of these gushing Rivers of Grue, I remain upbeat, affable and dependable.
I wasn’t born to sleepwalk through life you see. Punching in at a soulless job and subscribing to a false reality never really appealed to me. I’m creative, beyond even my own full understanding, and it is because of y’all that I embrace my calling. I’m nothing without the belief, love, and understanding of others and I am something because of this. Sure my mind sometimes defies logic but I trust that. Logic is fine should you be a pragmatic soul but natural reflectors such as I wish to step away from the logical route offered. I can be pragmatic too but my gut leads me to fulfilling what logic said I couldn’t. Go figure! There have been a number of obstacles before me littering my sight but through closing my eyes and trusting my gut I have made it through the mental minefield, not unscathed, but instead rebuilt stronger.
Inside us all is a designer, an artist, a scribe, a friend, a loved one, a leader. That’s right we all lead and we do so by example. If I witness negativity then often I choose not to react but merely to observe. I openly welcome opinion, even if it isn’t constructive or delivered with tactile kindness. I can rise above ignorance, had a life-time learning, and folk can say what they wish about me/my work. But I don’t need their validation, I receive that from the people who really read me. It has been remarked that my scribed words speak to people individually through hidden message in all that I share. Own these words as I’m not precious about them; there’s another stream inbound as long as I’m mortal. Use them to relate, cherry-pick and apply where you feel necessary. I don’t ever wish to control, only to guide towards inner-contentment.
The allure of darkness can be rather persuasive and at moments may have threatened to consume me but such instances are few and far between and of that I strongly assure you. The truth is that I’m actually not that dark and mysterious. In reality I am courteous, well-mannered, and congenial, and was raised with these core values. Smiling at a complete stranger or keenly allowing a fellow motorist to change lanes, as opposed to attaching your bumper to the vehicle in front just to deny them access, can make all the difference to their day. Paying it forward, to use the accurate terminology, is a selfless venture and moreover, provides them that warm fuzzy sensation inside which we all hanker after. I endeavor to spread warmth at each available opportunity and, in return, accept it back enthusiastically should it be extended my way.
I make no secret that Rivers of Grue is a free-loving enterprise but I cannot traverse these congealed streams without spotters. Last night, during one such bonding session, it hit me with the force of a bag of rusty nails. People actually show great fondness for my work. Moreover, they excitedly await fresh posts and get what Keeper is all about. During this extended communal hug-o-rama I could feel myself growing progressively more re-energized, puffing up to capacity like a blow fish and once more revealing my full spread of crimson barb. I tirelessly search for new ways to innovate and I habitually evolve with each token of support from my dedicated readership. I know never to undervalue the power of my addressee; countless scribes disappear within their own sphincters, allowing their beliefs to become compromised, and their opinions swayed by superficial factors.
Certain “critics” hold a grudge towards Christian Bale. Who fucking cares if he gets a tad narked from time to time, what difference does it make it he displays occasional contempt or looks at someone the wrong way? The guy is Patrick Bateman; there’s your perspective right there. He could take a steamy dump in my Honey Nut Clusters and I’d still have myself a second bowl. I’d simply add a little additional sugar to mask the flavor and would have a spoonful in my mouth before you could mutter “that’s a very fine Chardonnay you’re not drinking”. He was The Dark Knight with good reason, his artistic endowments are vast and his commitment to his profession astounding. Christian gleefully shed half his body mass months before Batman Begins commenced filming, just to get into character for The Machinist. Okay, so he may have been a touch over zealous as he turned up on Christopher Nolan’s set looking like Karen Carpenter on a hunger strike but still, there’s no doubting his dedication. Yet some bird brains still want to bust his chops.
Who actually cares if Tom Cruise was planning a good old-fashioned anal probing for Katie Holmes before she fled the nest? While my memory recalls him sliding across varnished floorboards in oversized work-shirt, shades and gym socks, I won’t be judging him. Besides the dude dangled from the world’s tallest building for his art so he evidently has a brace of nuts in his briefs. Kudos where they’re due; my testicles would likely implode at the very thought of attempting something so utterly preposterous. I will say this of Tommy Boy; it’s entirely plausible that all of the sandwiches aren’t in the hamper but as long as he gets to fuel that jumbo ego he remains buoyant and focused. Love him or loathe him, there’s no denying he’s made some pretty marvellous movies throughout the years.
Big whoop he endorses scientology; no reason for crucifixion. It’s this kind of closed-mindedness that sets us back centuries. Maybe a little swatting up on scientology could have prevented poor E.T. from being hunted to the edge of the earth when all he wanted to do was widen his horizons and engage in a little harmless cross-dressing. It’s Tom’s choice; not mine and certainly not the infidels who still dismiss his movies on principle alone. From what I hear, both Oblivion and Edge of Tomorrow are outstanding movies, yet both struggled to make a return as the whole world wants to hate on Cruise since these feces flingers started leaving a burning bag of shit on our doorsteps each morning with a conspicuous looking note attached. Said note read “You should have seen your face you bozo. Sincerely, Tom Cruise”. I sidestep that crap and you all appreciate the sentiment which positively tickles my pickle.
Anyhoots, I have digressed quite enough. My point is that ego is not, has never been, and never bloody will be, my motivation. My incentive is the allegiance of true horror aficionados, the folk who tiptoe away from their place of employment for five just to send good tidings, those who glean from my work what I wish to be gathered, optimism and freedom to be whoever the fuck they desire to be. That’s all the validation I require; no great science, no great need to massage my ego in order to substantiate my existence. Merely the reciprocated affection of my Grueheads sees me good. It matters not a jot whether fit a certain criteria or piss with the seat down. For the record, I often urinate seated.
There’s only one pre-requisite with the Grueheads; a solitary flash of their souls is ample initiation to come tread bloody water in these Rivers of Grue. Shit, I’ll even supply arm-bands for the novices. As the brutal love broadens and Keeper cultivates in stature, all the appreciation distributed my way is echoed straight back at you through my work. It is you delightful people who fuel my fire and for that I’m eternally indebted. My appreciation for the support I have received is something I can never find the words to fully vocalize but I assure you this: every share, every bleed, every warm hug, every kind word, it’s all noted. I know who you are and this puzzle I’ve been piecing together is all of you. The Crimson Quill is in absolutely, and I mean categorically, no fear of ever running dry now. no matter how many burning bags of shit are left on my doorstep.
Who said it’s too late
They fucking lied
Don’t swallow their bile
I fucking tried
They walk their set paths
with little pride
with all hopes and dreams
I much prefer where
we all reside
For hope is still ours
our wool is dyed
By every sworn oath
I shall abide
The light in our souls
will be our guide